


Whispers of the Past

by hutchabelle



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: New Year's Day isn't always a new start. Sometimes it's a reminder of what's past.





	Whispers of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble was written for the Winter in Panem challenge on tumblr.

 

“Hi, Peeta.”

 

“What are you doing?” His voice reverberates across the connection, and I can’t help but remember the single time I allowed myself to give in and lay my head against his chest. His rapid heartbeat fluttering under my ear haunted my dreams for weeks until I was finally able to shake how much I liked hearing it.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Sighing, he grouses, “It’s a new year, Katniss. You promised me this one would be different. Please don’t waste today.”

 

“Peeta, it’s January First. Do you really think I have to accomplish every single thing on my resolution list today?” I swallow as I realize how bitter I sound, but it feels good to spew some of the poison that’s fueled me over the past few weeks.

 

“If you say that today, what’s to stop you from repeating it tomorrow? How long are you going to give that as an excuse before you get up and going?”

 

He’s right. I know he is, but I have zero interest in admitting that to him. Besides, he’s three hours away visiting his family, even though he doesn’t want to. How he can grin and bear it for the days he spends in his mother’s presence is beyond me, but he does it every year.

 

“Don’t lecture me,” I snap more harshly than I should. “Don’t I deserve one damn day to wallow about my shitty life? One day to reflect on how awful it is and how alone I feel? Give me this one, Peeta, and save your condescension.”

 

“Don’t do that, Katniss. You’re not alone, and I wasn’t being condescending in any way. You know I’m worried about you.”

 

His voice is so gentle that tears spring to my eyes, and I choke on a sob. “My empty living room says differently.”

 

“I asked you to come with me. You know I did,” he argued softly.

 

“I can’t go back there.”

 

He doesn’t speak for several seconds, but when he does, he almost breaks me. “You can do anything you decide to do, Katniss. You’ve always been able to. You’re the only one who doesn’t believe it.”

 

Memories of a different life rush through me, and I double over from the pain. Images of my smiling younger sister intersperse with those of my parents laughing together in front of the stove. An imaginary cacophony of shouts and good-natured ribbing intermixes with the aromas of the prepared dishes our neighbors offered during the parties we used to host. Lilting music with haunting lyrics replays in my mind, and I swear it’s as if someone’s singing within my apartment. None of it is real. It was, but it’s not anymore.

 

Only Peeta’s presence in my life carries over from those days. Only Peeta remembers how wonderful those times were and helps me remember who I used to be. I desperately want to recover the happiness. Only Peeta can give me that.

 

My eyes droop with involuntary but blessed sleep, and I enter a surreal world of shadowed corners and gaping gray holes. Dark shapes chase me through twisting corridors until my chest heaves desperately for breath. It seems as if I just need to make one more turn before I’ll be able to enter a gloriously sunny courtyard that flashes past the windows while I flee from the terror. Just when I’m about to make it, the floor drops out from under me, and I scream myself awake.

 

“Katniss! You’re okay. Stop fighting.”

 

I gulp for air and flail as I struggle against the vise grips on my shoulders. I’m alone in my apartment. No one’s supposed to be here, so the voice and touch can only be something threatening and unwanted. My eyes roll in my head until I catch a whiff of a familiar scent—dill and cinnamon. I force myself to focus and swallow rapidly to calm myself. His hands drop to mine, and he holds them gently in my lap.

 

“It’s okay. I’m here,” Peeta assures me and lifts his thumb to skim across my trembling bottom lip before erasing the wet trails of sorrow that streak my cheeks.

 

“I thought you were at home.” I’m hoarse and barely audible, but he still seems to understand.

 

“I came back,” he replies with a ghost of a smile. His blue eyes reflect the concern he must have felt to leave our hometown before he was scheduled to return. They refuse to settle and flit across my face in an attempt to determine whether or not I’m all right.

 

I can’t speak, so I don’t try. Instead, I lean forward and wrap my arms around his neck. He responds in kind, and his embrace feels as heavenly as those days when I thought my life was perfect. We stay connected from a long time—long enough that he shifts uncomfortably to ease the pressure on his knees as he kneels in front of me and the couch. To his credit, he doesn’t let go. Then again, he never has.

 

Finally, I edge back, and he gives me a grateful smile as he rises from the floor and settles beside me. His arm snakes across my back to cradle me to him, but that only serves as a cue to fight the flutter of desire that burgeons in my chest.

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I whisper in a futile hope that he won’t actually hear me, but he does and always has.

 

“I’m not here because I’m scared, Katniss.”

 

“Then why are you?”

 

“Because I don’t want you to start this year alone. Because you deserve better than to feel like you don’t have anyone. Because I always want to be with you as one year bleeds into another.” His eyes sparkle as he speaks, and I marvel at the sense of peace he exudes whenever I’m in his presence.

 

“I don’t deserve you.” I’ve heard that more than once in my life from well-meaning, yet hurtful, acquaintances.

 

“You deserve the world, and this year my resolution is to stop letting you push me away just because you actually believe that nonsense.”

 

I jerk my head to look at him and am struck by the adoration that graces his familiar face. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting him.

 

“You’re not the only one who shouldn’t wait to work on resolutions. I have some too, and this is one I don’t want to put off until later in the year.” He’s so earnest when he speaks, and it’s endearing as well as slightly intimidating.

 

“Which one?” I ask, my voice tremulous and unsure.

 

His hand cups my cheek, and he angles his head until his lips brush against mine. “This one,” he breathes as his mouth covers mine. As he kisses me, the past whispers into oblivion and is silenced by a promise for the future.


End file.
